Bathroom affair
by Jon Berkley
Summary: A simple Bioshock oneshot I wrote. Rated T for violence and quite horrifice descriptions.


**Just a very simple, short story I wrote. **

Andrew walked through the Rapture hallway's. He was one of the few survivors of the fall of Rapture, who wasn't addicted to ADAM, the genetic goo that let you alter your body and could make one achieve great powers. It was highly addictive though and caused undesirable side-effects. The using of ADAM, called splicing, had worked out unpleasant for most citizens of Rapture, and had given them their name, Splicers. Now most people just walked around the halls, picking fights with each other or pursuing a Little Sister, a small girl who had to gather and reproduce ADAM.

Andrew hadn't used a lot of ADAM. He had gotten a single plasmid, a special medicine which could let you shoot lighting bolts out of your hand or freeze people or even let objects float.

He had chosen a plasmid called Electro Bolt. It had been useful in his old profession, which was hacking Vending Machines and such for money. A lot of times, the alert had went off and a plasmid to stun the security bots came in very handy. Now, he roamed around Rapture, hacking more Vending Machines and trying to avoid the Splicers. If a Splicer would come after him, he would always have his trusty revolver, loaded with hollow-point, anti-personnel rounds.

Andrew passed a bathroom, when he heard a soft sob coming from it. At first he tried to resist the urge, but his curiosity proved too strong. He entered the bathroom, pulling out his pistol and carefully looking around. When he stepped into the bathroom he saw nobody, but he still heard the soft crying. It came from one of the stalls. Andrew could hear a soft voice speaking. ''I was beautiful, I was. You don't have the right to say such a thing.'' a woman's voice said. Andrew opened one of the stalls. The stall was empty. The crying stopped. Dammit, What am I doing? Andrew thought. He pulled his revolver out of his belt and cocked the pistol. He opened the next stall door. This one was empty too. There was one stall left. He approached the toilet stall and laid his hand on it. After he controlled his nerve again, he opened the door. In the stall, sitting on the toilet looking at the tiles of the floor, was a woman. At first Andrew thought that the woman wasn't a splicer but just a normal survivor, when she looked up. Her face was badly deformed with big tumors growing out of it, pus dripping out of it. Her nose was nothing but a hole in her deformed face. Her eyes were blurred by some kind of tin membrane growing over it. Her hair had mostly fallen out. She wore a old, ripped and dirty dress. In her hand she firmly held a end of lead pipe.

She tried to stand up from the toilet seat. Andrew raised his revolver and fired.

He hit the woman straight between the eyes. The woman fell back on the toilet seat and slipped off of it and dropped against the wall of the stall. He panicked and pulled the trigger again and again, shooting the woman in the face again, even though she was already dead. Andrew stopped firing when his revolver was empty. He reloaded it. He heard the sound of the bullet casings dropping on the tiles. He clicked the cylinder back in the revolver and put the gun in his belt.

He heard a voice behind him: ''You killed my wife, my beautiful wife. Why?'' the voice asked. The man, the voice sounded like a man at least, started crying. ''Why? Why? WHY?'' the last word was screamed.

Andrew felt a bump against the back of his head.

He heard how his skull cracked and how his brains started pouring out of his head, littering the bathroom tiles. He managed to roll on his back, looking up at his assailant. The man who had hit him on the back looked even more horrific than his wife. He had more tumors growing out of his face and his body. His nose was, contradicting his wife's, a very big potato-shaped chunk of flesh with two holes in it. He had only one eye, the other eye-socket was a black hole with blood pouring out of it. His mouth was just a rip between the tumors in his face, his lips being strips of flesh hanging from it. He wore the remains of what once had probably been a nice suit and only one shoe.

The mouth seemed to form some kind of smile, exposing a few, partially rotten, yellow teeth. The hand, another chunk of flesh with tumors growing out of it, went up again, the crowbar that had hit Andrew on the back of the head again, still in it.

Andrew pulled out his pistols with his last strength. The crowbar hit him on the head again. He fired blindly. He didn't hear a scream of pain, or surprise and fired again. T

The crowbar hit him again. He fired a third time.

Another bash on his head.

Andrew wondered why he was still alive.

He wanted to fire another time, but he felt his arm drop down on the tiles of the bathroom. He heard the pistol drop on the floor and knew that it wouldn't take long before he'd be completely dead. He didn't feel the crowbar, bashing on his head anymore.

Finally, was the last thing that he thought.

The End

**Hope you enjoyed!**


End file.
